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It was crazy, dangerous, being with him like this but she couldn’t seem to stop her headlong plunge back into the living. Being with Matteo was like ingesting high-octane fuel when she’d spent her life running on regular. And not even her promise to end it first was penetrating the rosy glow surrounding her.
He appeared at her side as if summoned by the pull of her thoughts, magnetic, lethal, far too disconcerting. “Stop looking for things to fix,” he murmured. “The penny isn’t dropping tonight, Quinn.”
But it would eventually, wouldn’t it?
“I can’t thank you enough,” she threw into the silence between them. “I couldn’t have done this without you.”
He lifted his broad shoulders. “We make a good team.”
They did. He softened her hard edges. She made him tighten up on process when his creativity ran amuck. Their combined skills had made this night happen. One piece could not have existed without the other. And she couldn’t help but wonder what it would be like to always have him by her side. To always have him.
Her lashes fluttered down. That was dangerous, silly thinking. Matteo De Campo did not do permanent. And neither did she.
He gave her a long look. “Dance with me.”
She eyed him. “Not here, Matteo.”
“A dance between business partners,” he murmured, sliding an arm around her waist and ushering her through the crowd. She let him propel her through the guests, sure she wasn’t a good enough actress for this. And when he took one hand and slid the other around her waist and started moving to the sensual rhythm of the reggae, she was sure she wasn’t.
“I can’t move my hips like that,” she complained. “Can we do this later?”
He bent his head to her ear. “Let go, you little control freak. Let me lead.”
She tried. Tried to match her undeniably stiff steps to his sinuous, smooth ones, but she kept stepping on his feet and stumbling to catch up. He wrapped his fingers tighter around hers and brought her closer to his body so he could force her steps into line with his. “It’s a good thing there are times when you do know how to follow or a man wouldn’t know what to do with you,” he said roughly in her ear.
Heat filled her cheeks. “Matteo.”
“What? No one can hear us.”
She could hear her heart pounding in her chest, its insistent drumbeat reverberating in her ears. The burn of his thighs against hers was primal. The way he made her want to throw caution to the wind disconcerting in the extreme. She pulled in a breath and pushed back to put some distance between them. It wasn’t just that he was the most charismatic man she’d ever met. He was also kind. Insightful.
She was a better person around him. Happy.
And tomorrow he would fly back to New York and she would fly back to Chicago and it would be over.
She stumbled. He tightened his hold on her waist and drew her back to him, those all-seeing eyes drilling into hers. “What’s wrong?”
She was madly in love with him, that’s what was wrong. Although she had no experience with the feeling, the inescapable, glaring truth hit her like a slap in the face.
She swallowed hard. “Nothing.”
He studied her face. “Your lying skills have not improved.”
“This has to end, Matteo. You know it and I know it.”
His eyes deepened to that stormy hue that telegraphed a fight. “When did you happen to come to this conclusion?”
“You...I...” She shook her head. “We’re flying back to the States tomorrow. To two separate cities. To two separate lives.”
“So? This is the jet plane age, Quinn. Soon to have regular space travel.”
Yes, but soon he wouldn’t want her and she couldn’t go through being left again.
He read her thoughts as effortlessly as he always did. “Oh, no, you don’t,” he growled, his hand tightening around hers. “We started this and we’re seeing it through. I want you in my life, Quinn.”
The crowd around them grew louder, buzzed in her ears. What did that mean, he wanted her in his life? For a month? Six? Until he lost interest and ended it, his contract intact? Until she went the way of all his other women, with a broken heart and a bar set so high no man could ever live up to it?
Her insides curled in on themselves. Julian hadn’t even come home to pack his things. Instead he’d sent movers on a Saturday morning when she was still in her pajamas, barely awake and on her first coffee. She’d stared dumbfounded at them, wondering what they were doing there. Called Julian in Boston where he was supposed to be watching a ball game with his brother, only to discover he was with his lover of three months. And he was leaving Quinn.
The movers, he’d said, were the civilized way to end things.
After the movers had left, she’d closed the door, leaned against it, and slid to the floor. And hadn’t been sure whether her tears were ones of relief or humiliation. Failure. All she’d been able to think of was what was she going to tell Warren. How she was going to explain his perfect match had been a failure before it had even begun.
“Quinn?” Matteo squeezed her arm, his gaze impatient. “Are you listening to me?”
She lifted her chin. “What’s the longest you’ve ever been with a woman?”
His dark brows came together. “What does that have to do with us?”
“Answer the question.”
“I was with my last girlfriend for six months. I cared for her, Quinn.”
Six months. She, the failure at relationships and he, the man most likely never to commit were going to make this work?
“I think we should call it quits while we’re ahead.” She kept her gaze level, her tone even. “I’m about to put a major dent in my career aspirations when I tell my father about us. Perhaps that’s enough for now?”
His gaze darkened. “Not when the only reason you’re doing it is because you’re afraid of failure.”
Her blood fired in her veins, mixing with confusion to form a deadly cocktail. “What exactly are you offering, Matteo, beyond a hot affair with an Italian stud? What does having me in your life entail?”
His eyes flashed. “You had best take that back right now, Quinn.”
Her gaze bounced away from his. “You know what I mean.”
“Somehow I don’t. Perhaps you’d like to explain.”
“Your track record makes it very clear where this will end.”
“This isn’t about the past.” A muscle jumped in his jaw, a heated fury building in his eyes as he captured her jaw in his fingers and forced her gaze back to his. “This is about the future. Our future. And you’re trying to end this before it’s even begun.”
She pulled out of his grasp. “It’s an act of self-preservation, Matteo. I have more brains than the rest.”
His stormy gaze sliced over her. “You really are spoiling for a fight.”
“That would be you, not me.” She felt a set of eyes burn into them, fueled undoubtedly by Matteo’s caveman tactics and turned her head to find the source. A photographer sat with a camera at the bar watching them intently.
“This is not the place to be having this conversation.”
“You’re right.” He nodded tersely. “But you are not going to withdraw from me, Quinn. Get that through your head. It might have been an insane idea on both our parts to get involved, but it’s done. Now, later, we are going to see this through. I promise you.”
The music ended. She stepped out of his arms, relief flashing through her. “I should go talk to the governor general before he leaves.”
His gaze followed her as she walked across the terrace with quick steps toward the governor. No way was she doing this now. No way was she making life-altering decisions when her head was clearly not on straight. Because agreeing to be with Matteo De Campo would have a ricochet effect on her life she couldn’t contemplate right now.
* * *
It was the early hours of the morning before the party started to wind down and Matteo joined François at the bar for a drink, content in the knowledge that the evening had been an unqualified success. The tourism press and the VIPs had raved about the hotel’s return to its former glory. The contractors would stay on to help Quinn finish the outstanding issues.
His work here was done. He and Quinn were not.
“Where’s Quinn?” he asked François.
“She went to find a bottle of port for a guest. She said she’d join us after.”
His mouth tightened. She’d been avoiding him ever since their conversation earlier. Deliberately. Unapologetically. He’d watched her shell come down around her as the minutes had ticked by. Shutting him out.
François handed him a shot of the ten-year-old rum he’d promised and babbled on about the night, his hands moving expressively through the air. Matteo lifted the glass to his lips.
This has to end. You know it and I know it.
